


Nox Aeterna

by NightlyEchoes



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightlyEchoes/pseuds/NightlyEchoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was another one of those nights of which Bakura knew that he wouldn't get any sleep. And the reason for that was a certain Egyptian who just didn't leave his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nox Aeterna

Bakura hated nights like this.

Nights during which he didn’t know anymore why he still even bothered with sleeping at Ryou’s apartment instead of just staying at Marik’s. Not only did it offer the most luxurious silk bedding made out of the best Egyptian cotton but also Marik himself who currently lay way too close, his warm breath washing over pale skin in regular waves.  
Bakura sighed and stared up at the ceiling of the dimly lit room where the fan continuously hummed despite not providing any actual relief to the summer heat, which had lately begun to plague the city.  
Strong arms encircled his bony hips as if they were meant for it and soft blond hair tickled his neck whenever one of them moved. Most often, that someone was Bakura. 

Bakura, who already knew that he would lay awake all night and that neither the heat nor the annoying noise were responsible for that. No, the reason for his self-induced insomnia was currently sound-asleep and providing him with even more warmth than his host’s body deemed necessary or in any way acceptable. 

In his former life he had never minded the heat...

He also knew that this would most likely turn out to be another night which he would have to spend not only listening for soft whimpers and quiet mewls which sometimes would begin to disturb the quietness, but also searching for any signs of discomfort and impeding nightmares to shoo away before they even had the chance to get worse. To avoid drama. Or so he kept telling himself at least.  
And he _almost_ believed it.

To be honest, Bakura didn’t know why the hell he did that (Comforting others? Watching out whether his partner in crime suffered from petty little nightmares? _Him?_ Laughable).  
But then he also didn’t know why he always came running like a perfectly trained lapdog as soon as Marik whistled.  
Why he cared so much about that bratty boy…  
Why he stayed…  
There was never a ‘thank you’ in the morning. No signs of gratitude. Nothing. He was simply expected to cooperate. To be there.  
_‘You either die or join forces with me.’_  
That were the words he had heard as they had met for the first time and that was what they lived by now; Mutual dependency to reach similar goals.  
Bakura was tired of it.

Tired, because he felt as if he had accidentally trapped himself and was now stuck on his quest to reach a goal which had gone further out of reach every time he checked. And every time they actually _did_ progress one step in the right direction, they were pushed back two. It was easy to tell that he would be better off alone. 

Get up.  
_‘Roll for Dexterity.’_  
Leave.  
_‘1’_

Bakura’s lips curled into a slight grin. The Gods had always loved messing with him. And messing with him they did. They just had to.  
It became obvious in the way his heart galloped in his chest like a runaway horse whenever Marik joined him underneath the blanket to seek comfort when the night was too dark, too lonely, and just too much in general again. In that small moment during which all his muscles tensed when Marik pressed his cool nose against the crook of his neck. When he had to forcefully regulate his breathing because they were so close to each other and his body reacted in all kinds of unwanted ways. When Marik’s alluring scent hit his nostrils and reminded him of all the things that shouldn’t be.  
He was tired of how easy it was for Marik to push him onto his back and how willingly he spread his legs for a rough fuck which didn’t last long enough in Bakura’s mind.  
He was tired. 

A soft murmur pulled Bakura out of his thoughts and he glanced down at Marik who had begun to talk in his sleep. It wasn't unusual for that to happen considering how much the boy already talked when he was awake. Yet, it would be a lie to say that Bakura didn’t _thoroughly_ enjoy those rare moments during which the almighty Marik Ishtar, who never showed his true face to anyone as far as Bakura knew, laid his innermost thoughts and feelings bare. In a language which, while not making any sense to Bakura, had a weirdly familiar charm to it. It fascinated Bakura. 

Hell, he didn't even care about the drool pooling on his pillow anymore or the way Marik’s nose sometimes scrunched up before a loud snore escaped his mouth. Instead he was tantalised by the way Marik always managed to avoid sleeping on his back. How peaceful his face looked when he was asleep. How quiet he was.  
In moments like these it was hard to imagine how much of a manipulative, sadistic asshole Marik could be during the day. Not that Bakura wanted him in any other way. It was just refreshing.

As careful as he could, Bakura turned on his side to get a better look at the other, not minding that the blanket slid further down his naked body in the process. It was too warm anyway.  
With the gentlest touch Bakura caressed Marik’s cheek while he listened to him babble something in Egyptian Arabic. He could only imagine what it was that troubled his mind. The Pharaoh? His family? Knowing him, probably the former.  
‘Bakura…’  
The movement of his hand came to a very abrupt halt as soon as his name had escaped Marik’s treacherous lips. It wasn't the first time it had happened and it didn't really surprise Bakura seeing how he was the only one constantly around the other. Sooner or later Marik’s subconsciousness just had to sink its sharpened claws into his presence. It was only natural.  
Nevertheless, Bakura would never get tired of the sound of it. Especially in moments like this where Marik’s voice was barely audible and slurred by sleep. Cosy. _Home_. Whispering promises of things he had never had the chance to experience for himself. Things his rotten heart shouldn’t crave anymore for they had turned to ash thousands of years ago. Molten.  
Bakura closed his eyes and sighed. It was tempting to press a quick kiss against Marik's forehead. Just this once while his partner was sound asleep and oblivious to anything going on around him. But he refrained from doing so (shouting loudly against the nagging voice in his head which urged him to do it), for he knew just too well that this gesture, no matter how small, would make his own feelings so much more real. And he didn't need that. 

They both knew that their partnership was only temporal. That _this_ was only temporal. They would defeat the Pharaoh and part ways. Similar to leopards after mating season.  
Business was done. Farewell. 

‘Don’t leave…’ Japanese. Bakura’s language. No, _Ryou’s_ language.

Deep down, a small part of Bakura wished that it could be different. That somewhere, in another universe, at another time, there was a chance for them to stay together. To live a life in which neither of them had been scarred by their past in a way. Marik visibly, Bakura hidden.  
But then would they even been drawn to each other? Wasn’t it what made them fit? Albeit in a weird way? Two broken pieces violently shoved together, bending each other further in the process.  
Bakura didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was stuck in the here and now with an unclear future lying ahead of them. One final battle which needed their full attention.  
They had no time for any complications and ‘what ifs’. All that mattered was the Pharaoh dead.  
Revenge for himself, freedom for Marik. 

‘I’m here,’ he replied after a pause which had been just too long. In Middle Egyptian. His language. And in a way theirs. Raw on his tongue. Almost lost.  
Bakura gently drew Marik closer and in this moment, he knew that he hadn’t been lying. It wasn’t a promise to stay, just him stating a fact. He was here. With Marik. Spending another night in which they had carved their shared hatred into each other’s bones while clinging to the last hope for a life they couldn’t have. They hadn’t made love and never would (love was too fancy, too cliché). They hadn’t even fucked. They had breathed. They had breathed with the same intensity one did before the final wave hit and dragged one down into a dark, wet tomb. A painful reminder that both were alive. So, so alive.  
Bakura lightly trailed along Marik's spine through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, careful to avoid tracing the fine scars, no matter how tempting it was. A soft sigh was the only reaction he got, but he didn't focus on it anymore. Instead, he stared into the distance of the dimly lit room, repeating the words in his head over and over again as if to ground himself; _I’m here_. 

Bakura hated nights like these because he hoped they would last forever.


End file.
